Brutal honesty

I have never been very good at brutal honesty. That is until now. I am finding that at the ripe old age of 36 brutal honety is beginning to serve me well. For example, just now, Rose asks me, "Mom, am I good at cartwheels?" at which point she displays for me her gymnastic abilities by flinging her body across our hardwood floor in a semi circular motion, legs bent and flailing and hair flying all around, landing with a series of akward thumps and bumps similar to what you would hear as you dump out a bag of potatos on the kitchen table. Ah, now I am faced with a dilemna. Mom of the year award will surely go to the one who pours out sticky sweet compliments of imporved form or graceful recovery, but I am chosing the road of brutal honesty. Sure I could inflate her perception of her acrobatic talents with these rosey compliments but no, not I! My response?: " No Rose. You are NOT good at cartwheels". There I said it. Brutal but true. That sort of approach could have saved her from "showing off" this cartwheel at school... IN PUBLIC! Now for the follow up. I will, in a teaching moment, show her how it's done. I rise from my chair and ready myself for what is to take place next. Sure I havent' done a cartwheel in 18 years but it's like riding a bike right? I am sure it will come right back to me. Just 3 seconds later, as my feet leave the ground I am painfully aware that starting a cartwheel is like riding a bike but I have drawn a blank on what happens after your feet leave the ground. It was a different ending than I had planned. It sounded like a truck full of potatos landing on the kitchen table. I braced myself for my well deserved ridicule, but my sweet Rose clapped vigorously and grinned ear to ear, " Mom that was amazing!" ("yeah", I thought, " amazing I didn't break anything) Oh Rose. Thanks for not using your brutal honesty. I think it's over-rated. 4/12/11 by Eileen Curtis Delete